


Cum Recipes (Natural Harvest)

by omniocularz (adaptation)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Cooking With Jizz, Eddie is alive for reasons, Established Relationship, I hate myself, I'm Sorry, M/M, Post-Canon, Richie Tozier doesn't know when to quit, insensitive PTSD jokes, semen is inexpensive to produce and is commonly available in most homes and restaurants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22666936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaptation/pseuds/omniocularz
Summary: Eddie moves in with Richie. This is a mistake.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 109





	Cum Recipes (Natural Harvest)

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Alec @queermccoy and Raye @Raye96S for reading this over before I posted it!

The day he moves in with Richie is the worst day of Eddie's life.

It starts out fine. They roll out of bed around nine and have a leisurely breakfast of coffee and waffles in the kitchen of Eddie's apartment. It's a boxy, too-expensive thing that he only rented in the first place because it came furnished and he'd let Myra keep all their furniture. Not that he'd wanted it anyway; in addition to being exclusively Myra-picked, it was all overstuffed to the point of being uncomfortable, and it would have been stupid to pay to ship furniture cross-country when he didn't even like it. So he'd rented a furnished place and stubbornly unpacked his ten boxes of stuff (books and clothes, mostly), tuning out the constant litany of reasons he should just move right into Richie's place. At least Bev had agreed with him—leaving your provincial wife and moving directly into your new boyfriend's sleek LA condo wasn't a good look.

He'd intended to give it six months. Even when he was spending 98% of his time at Richie's, he insisted on keeping the apartment. In the grand scheme of things, six months was nothing. But then Joel, the guy he was subletting from, had shot him an email from Dubai that said, in a roundabout way, "I'm moving back, get out of my apartment," and Eddie was suddenly homeless.

For a week afterward, Richie sat through Eddie's grumbling as he clicked through rental websites, his only comment on the subject a pointed raise of his stupid eyebrows. The eighth time that happened, Eddie snapped, "Fuck, fine, I'm moving in, you asshole," and Richie had to smother his grin in his iced capp.

And now here he is, carefully unpacking his box of hardcovers onto the bookshelf in Richie's— _their_ —living room, only to slide Michael Crichton next to a thin orangey paperback and have his eyes catch on the words SEMEN-BASED RECIPES.

Eddie nearly chokes on his own spit.

 _Jurassic Park_ falls onto its cover. The other book he's holding, a non-fiction hardcover, drops with a clunk to the hardwood floor. He has no desire to touch this book, but his hands lift of their own volition to slide the tall, thin book off the shelf.

There's some kind of custard thing plated on the burnt-orange cover, and in the top right hand corner, in bolded Arial Narrow, he reads: _NATURAL HARVEST: a collection of semen-based recipes_.

"I hate everything about this," he whispers to himself, turning the book over in his hands.

His eyes skim over the back cover text, stuttering over the phrase _"semen remains neglected as a food."_ He gags.

"I'm pretty sure unpacking means you're supposed to put stuff away." Richie is leaning against the frame of the door to the master bedroom, his arms folded across his chest in a way that makes the sleeves of his tee stretch over his biceps. Eddie's eyes catch on the pull of fabric until Richie says, "Whatcha got there, Eds?" and he remembers the abomination he's holding.

"What the shit, Richie?" he blurts, holding the book up as though his blind-ass boyfriend can read the title from ten feet away.

Richie squints through his glasses and leans forward, and Eddie can see the moment he realizes what book he's holding, because the corners of Richie's lips quirk. He's trying to swallow a smile.

"I know, I know." He waves his hand, coming up off the wall to move into the kitchen. "I really should keep the cookbooks in the kitchen, but I like having all my books in one place! Sue me."

Eddie tracks Richie's gait as he moves through the open-concept condo. "The location isn't the problem I have with this book," he says flatly.

"What do you want for lunch?" Richie pulls two mugs down from the cupboard above the sink and starts to make coffee.

"That depends. Is there going to be _jizz in it?_ " His voice rises toward the end of the question, shock giving way to his typical Richie-induced agitation.

Unsurprisingly, this only serves to make Richie giddy, and he grins as he spoons coffee grounds into a filter. "Now, spaghetti, there's no need to shout. Of course there will. Semen is protein-rich and I add it to all my food." Eddie can feel his face heating as his cheeks turn red with blood. He knows Richie's full of shit, Richie's _perpetually_ full of shit, but just the fucking _thought_ is enough to enrage him. This is exactly what Richie wants; he's so goddamn easy. "We've been eating it the whole time, Eds. I figured you'd be into it, you're all about that organic, sustainable bullshit, right?"

His fingers are tightening on the book to the point where the cover is starting to crinkle, and Eddie's voice box is warring with his gag reflex, unable to decide if it's more important to explode or to puke in his mouth.

Richie is either unaware of Eddie's problem (unlikely) or amused by it (probable). He takes the coffee pot out of the sink and slides it into place on the machine, then taps the button to set it brewing and continues his spiel. "I was worried at first, when you moved out here, that I wouldn't be able to keep up production. You _really_ like it straight from the source, after all, and I can only make so much semen in a day."

"Stop saying semen!" Eddie snaps.

"It turned out okay, though." Richie is now rummaging in the refrigerator and throwing sandwich meat onto the counter over his shoulder. Eddie considers braining him with this godforsaken cookbook. "I mentioned our plight to Randy, the homeless guy who lives in the alley by the trash shoot, and he's been more than happy to resupply us when I'm running dry." To underscore his point, Richie pulls a squeeze bottle of Helmann's out of the fridge and waggles it at him.

A wire inside him snaps and his whole body explodes into movement. "You gross fucking piece of shit!" The book goes flying somewhere in Richie's general direction, pages fluttering noisily. "You're disgusting!" He comes up off the floor and storms around the living room in a pointless circle before making for the bedroom. "I can't believe I agreed to this, I take everything back, I hate you and I'm moving out!"

"But Eds!" Richie calls, his voice ringing with barely suppressed laughter. "You just got here. Eddie! Baby!"

The bedroom door slams behind Eddie, but even through it he can hear, "Don't you want a tomato and jizz sandwich?"

* * *

A few minutes later, once Eddie's blood pressure has settled back into normal range and his vision has stopped blurring at the edges, Richie knocks gently on the bedroom door. Eddie looks over at it from where he's sprawled on the bed, hands behind his head on top of the pillow.

"Eds?" Richie's voice is tentative through the door, but Eddie can still hear the trademark trill of amusement in it that thumbs at the tendons in his heart. "I made you lunch." A pause. "There's no jizz in it, I swear."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I know there's no jizz in it, dipshit," he calls back, and Richie finally cracks the door open. His head pokes into the room, hair floppy, brows raised with apology. "I'm not actually mad at you."

"You're not." Richie repeats it like he doesn't quite believe it.

"Of course not." Eddie sighs and pushes himself up off the bed, frowning. "I'm mad at... the author of the book? I don't know. The whole concept of it. This is deep-seated existential anger that a cookbook has given me PTSD." He stands and makes his way to the door, then pulls it the rest of the way open and shoves past Richie. "We're throwing it out. Where did you even get it? We should burn that place down."

Richie follows him into the kitchen, reaching one long arm around him to nudge at a prettily-plated grilled cheese he's made. There's a smiley face on the plate made with ketchup. It has angry eyebrows.

"Is that me?" he asks flatly.

"That's my Spaghetti," Richie confirms, and kisses him wetly on the cheek. Eddie sighs and dabs a corner of the sandwich in the ketchup. Richie's hand settles warmly on his hip. Eddie bites into the grilled cheese. "It was a gag gift from my sister a million years ago. After I moved to LA. I think it was supposed to be a joke about California turning me into a hippy."

"I don't think hippies eat their own jizz." Richie opens his mouth. "Please don't correct me on that while I'm eating." Richie closes his mouth. "Thank you for lunch, dickhead." He feels the pleasant stir of warm breath against his neck as Richie huffs a laugh. "When does your sister's kid go to college?"

At the non sequitur, Richie stills. "In the fall. Why?"

"How do you feel about regifting?"

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Natural Harvest is a real cookbook. I did not write it and have not read it and do not intend to eat cum food. If you are so inclined, you can snag yourself a copy [right here](https://www.amazon.ca/dp/1481227041/ref=cm_sw_r_sms_apa_i_sySzEbA6R3WEN).
> 
> Hit me up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/omniocularz), I love new friends!


End file.
